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Wednesday, Apr 30, 2008
by PopMatters Staff

The Ting Tings, Katie White (vocals, guitar and bass drum) and Jules De Martino (vocals, drums, electronics), formed as a two-piece during some house parties at Manchester’s Islington Mill, an underground artist collective featuring all manner of creative talent (visual and musical). Their career has taken off with a 2007 appearance at the Glastonbury Festival, bring voted the #3 “Top 10 to Watch in 2008” by the BBC, and just this month with an iPod + iTunes commercial featuring “Shut Up and Let Me Go”.


Called the “most exciting new band in the country” by NME, the Ting Tings are making their way to America this spring with a digital release of their debut record, We Started Nothing, releasing on 20 May 2008. Earning kudos for their charged live performance at SXSW this March from both the New York Times and the New York Post, the British band return to the U.S. and Canada in June for a batch of live shows in major cities. Full tour dates appear below.


In the meantime, PopMatters is proud to present the exclusive debut of the Ting Tings performing “Great DJ” live at the Islington Mill recently in Manchester.


 

The Ting Tings - North American June Tour Itinerary


06/07/08 San Diego, CA—Casbah
06/09/08 Vancouver, BC—Plaza
06/10/08 Seattle, WA—Chop Suey
06/11/08 Portland, OR—Doug Fir
06/12/08 San Francisco, CA—Popscene
06/13/08 Los Angeles, CA—Troubadour
06/14/08 Los Angeles, CA—Zero One
06/16/08 Toronto, ONT—Mod Club
06/18/08 New York, NY—Bowery Ballroom
06/19/08 Boston, MA—Great Scott
06/20/08 Brooklyn, NY—Southpaw
06/21/08 Philadelphia, PA—Popped


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Tuesday, Apr 29, 2008

It’s time for Wednesday’s look at the worst of the worst. Today, a horribly unfunny comedy from South Korea.


Ki-tae and Cheol-su are a couple of young street toughs looking to get married to the mob. Cheol-su fancies himself an enforcer for the local “working girls,” while Ki-tae protects neighborhood kids from other would-be hoodlums. Through their connections, they end up taking part in a big-time drug deal. When the exchange turns deadly, the boys break ranks and flee. The crime boss is none too pleased with their panicking, and demands that they either repay the lost $10,000, or avenge those who died.


Naturally, the guys try to raise the cash while keeping one step ahead of the law. When Ki-tae stumbles across a big bag of cocaine, they see a possible way out of their predicament. With the help of a hooker friend, they head off to Japan to make a deal worth $500,000. This way, they can repay the boss and start life over again. But there is someone from their past, someone very angry, who wants his own satisfaction, and he won’t take an apology, or cash, to quell it.


Loud, illogical, and without a single redeeming character, Jungle Juice is the Korean cinema’s idea of an American mob comedy. You know the kind - idiots want to join the syndicate, screw up a big job, end up owing the bosses big time, and botch their way through trying to replace the cash/stash. Profanity is tossed about freely, and violence forms both the slapstick and the sinister quality of the narrative. In the end, we are rooting for our amateur anti-heroes, since no one wants the gangsters to win and, with the help of a surprising ally, our leads learn a lesson and get some manner of backwards reward in the process.


It should work effortlessly. We should grow in our acceptance of these misfits, learn why the wrong side of the law holds such an allure, and realize that the adventures we’ve witnessed were all part of some strange coming-of-age ritual that results in change and catharsis. Without these elements, we have nothing but a “crime is glamorous” crapshoot that kills its purpose with firepower and foolishness.



But director Min-Ho Cho doesn’t understand the basics of balance. He allows Jungle Juice to careen all over the screen, moving from dark drama to way-out wackiness in a manner that is both awkward and obvious. In his lead roles, he employs two over-the-top baboons (actually, actors Hyuk Jang and Beom-su Lee) and forces them to mug, mince, and basically mess about without a single scintilla of purpose. No attempt at dimension or depth is made, and their cartoonish capering is about as endearing as an ear infection. In essence, they are not really part of the story.


They are like the necessary linking verb in a sentence, a way of connecting the drug-dealing story with the gang violence goofiness. Min-ho doesn’t even set up the story properly. Instead, we are introduced to necessary elements in offhand, haphazard fashion. The backstory involving sports and college? It’s part of a post-coital tryst with a hooker. The entire power struggle playing out in the mob? Left to a couple of casual comments between the hoods. One character’s missing testicle? A one-off joke that goes nowhere. Instead of setting up clear distinctions, believable aims, and straightforward action, everything here swirls around like a bunch of rats caught in a sewer riptide…and all we are left with is the smell.


Not only is Jungle Juice an outrage, but it can also be categorized as something much worse - the promising film that pisses all of its potential away. There really is no hope for these brain-dead dolts, but the whore with a heart of ice and a decided derring-do (she is nicknamed Meg Ryan and is played with pluck by Hye-jin Jeon) would make a natural center for the story. Our unpleasant putzes could be tossed aside, and Min-ho could have made this Meg’s story of survival and double-crossing. She has the most interesting history, her resolve is fierce and independent, and she manages to thwart those situations that her idiotic partners fall into like fruit carts during a chase scene.


But Min-ho keeps her minor, never letting anything she does or determines overwhelm her miserable macho sidekicks. Perhaps it’s a sly commentary on Asian social structure, or a way of representing girl power without shooting off sparks, but it’s boring. Indeed, almost all of Jungle Juice is inert and uninteresting. Even the title tonic - a homemade brew that leads to some heady hallucinations - makes a single, sad appearance here before disappearing into the ephemera.



At the one-hour mark, we are wishing for something to happen, and at the one-hour-and-30-minute mark, we just want it to end. Jungle Juice could very easily be called Bungled Sap or Botched Brew as it lumbers along on screams, curse words, and…not much else. This is moviemaking as an amplified experience, with everything turned up to Spinal Tap‘s “11,” without any of that film’s wit, wisdom, satire, or irony. While it’s a professional and high-profile movie to look at (this is no low-budget romp), we are still treated to a scattershot story that never settles in to allow us entry.


It may have sides splitting in Seoul and be breaking box-office records in Bangkok, but for some reason, Jungle Juice just doesn’t translate to a Western ideal - and the funny thing is, it more or less steals, openly and honestly, from the British and American indie scene from the last two decades. Two better and more accurate titles would have been Lock, Stock, and Two Smoking Dimwits or Dolt Fiction, since this is one homage that is hasty and malformed. Unless you’re some manner of Asian film completist, there is no reason to sample this stale, stinking fluid.


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Tuesday, Apr 29, 2008
I sorta made a point of disparaging the idea of the Wii Wheel last week. Well, I was wrong.

One of the most misleading aspects of game journalism as a whole is the relentless air of positivity that goes into game and gear previews.  On one hand, it’s true that you don’t necessarily want to dismiss the potential of a game based on an early build or a demo; on the other, if something looks like it’s going to be lousy, even if it’s a hotly anticipated piece of software from a major publishing company, shouldn’t we go ahead and feel free to say so?


It is in this spirit that I ranted for a paragraph or so about just how awful an idea the Wii Wheel was, how its presence sullied the good name of Mario Kart and put it in the company of such peripheral bad ideas as the Wii Baseball Bat and the Wii Tennis Racket (I mean, really, just the Wiimote, all by itself, had been proven dangerous—did we have to find ways to make it bigger?).  I know that the Wii Wheel isn’t exactly an uncommon target for criticism, but between the Wii Zapper fiasco (so when’s the next “Wii Zapper Compatible” game coming out, anyway?) and this, Nintendo’s propensity to hop on the plastic-shell bandwagon seemed too troubling not to call out.


Given the quickness with which I jumped on the bandwagon of Wii Wheel rippers, then, it seems only fair that I should now admit that I was wrong.


There is no game out there right now, not a single one, that has brought my family together for game time more reliably and consistently than Mario Kart Wii.  Let me be clear: we are not a house of Mario Kart enthusiasts; I’ve had only a passing interest in the franchise for most of its life, apart from a brief time with the original when I was utterly obsessed.  The DS version is fun enough, but it didn’t exactly steal my life away, and I’m a little bit ashamed to admit that I’ve never even played Double Dash.  The kids have played a couple of previous iterations of the franchise as well, finding the most interest in the DS version, but even that struck them as not exactly worth giving up things like Dogz and Spider Man: Friend or Foe.


Mario Kart Wii, on the other hand, has a Wheel.


As suggested by my wife, a teacher, it seems to be a matter of context; in education, the use of appropriate contextual cues can not only make learning easier, but can also make the students want to learn.  It seems like such a simple concept, but I had never considered that a simple wheel, attached to nothing at all, could make playing a game so much more fun than holding the Wiimote and pretending that I was gripping the three-o’-clock and nine-o’-clock positions on a wheel.  In doing so, I obviously made a huge error in judgement, because not only does the wheel seem to drum up interest in the game, it gives the kids confidence.  The game then transcends the label of “daddy’s video games” and becomes, simply, a toy.  Turn the wheel left, car goes left.  Turn the wheel right, car goes right.  Hold down the ‘2’ button the whole time, and you’re driving.  Easy as pie.


My six-year-old has won a few 50cc races, which was a surprise to me given that she has never shown a propensity for games that require quick thinking and fast action.  These wins have been utter events in our household, things that can be attributed not only to her increasing-all-too-fast age, but also to the fact that turning a steering wheel probably seems like a pretty basic mechanic, even for her; combining the function of an analog stick and various buttons is still a bit abstract for her mind, while turning a wheel is entirely logical and mechanical, and the confidence of knowing exactly what that wheel is supposed to do was enough to convince her that she could win.  And so she did.


This all may seem like fairly minor stuff in the grand scheme, and it’s true that the Wheel is not going to win you any tournaments the way the more traditional Nunchuck/Wiimote combo will.  Still, for casual players, children, and anyone else that Nintendo is trying to “bridge” to more serious gaming via Mario Kart Wii, the wheel is absolutely useful, and borders on essential.


And no, I can’t believe I just said that.


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Tuesday, Apr 29, 2008
by PopMatters Staff

CSS
Rat Is Dead [MP3]
     


Robert Forster
Pandanus [MP3]
     


The Long Blondes
Guilt [Video]


Guillemots
Falling Out of Reach [Video]


Black Diamond Heavies
Bidin’ My Time [MP3]
     


Young and Sexy
The Fog [MP3]
     


Sarandon
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Mike’s Dollar [MP3]
     



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Tuesday, Apr 29, 2008

How is it that a song made of all the worst things possible is endlessly awesome? Contemplate this while enjoying Komar & Melamid’s “Most Unwanted Song” (link via Scott McLemee). The song was produced based on the results of a 1990s poll asking Americans what features they like least in music. Michael Bierut at Design Observer suggests the result is a triumph of design: “If working within limitations is one of the ways designers distinguish themselves from artists, America’s Most Unwanted Song is a design achievement of a high order.”


And naturally, the most wanted song is unlistenable. If American Idol is the future of pop music, this poll-produced contrivance suggests the future will be bleak indeed.


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